Category: Waxing Philosophical

. . . without a license.

Monday Has Begun

I have a long list–several lists, actually–of stuff to do before we go. I’ll get to that shortly, but first I wanted to make a few notes about community, and not just the place you live, but the way you live.

Everywhere I go, I see people clutching cell phones to their ears. On one hand, I celebrate this development because it promotes eavesdropping. People speak out loud into their palms, not realizing or not caring that everyone in a twelve foot radius can hear them. Just yesterday, the woman at the table next to me at the pool talked on her cell phone for half an hour. The children splashed and played while her husband tended to the marinaded chicken on the grill and she chatted.

The other afternoon at the nearby new park, I trailed behind Babygirl and encountered two adults sitting on either end of a park bench, speaking into their cell phones. In another era, those two might have visited or exchanged pleasantries, at least. No more.

Now, whenever you are faced with a situation in which you might meet a neighbor, that neighbor is probably on the phone. Gone are the days in which you sought to make connections with those physically closest to you. We are all connected, but we are not connected to our next-door neighbor, those who live on our street or even those in our town.

I wonder about this lack of connection to those in close proximity to us. Instead of being forced to find common ground with and tolerance for those within spitting distance, we can just phone a friend.

We’ve never been so in touch and so isolated at the same time.

[DaycareKid arrived at 7:30 a.m. In fifteen minutes, I’ve wiped his nose three times. He’s whining that, “I’m sick,” whine. Oh joy. I want to spray him with disinfectant and put him in the storage room. I do not want my own children to be sick during our trip. I’m short on compassion this morning. (Someone has just pointed out to me that I have bemoaned the state of community and then when a real live human being enters my house with a snotty nose, I want to isolate him. Point well taken. I really don’t want my own kids to get sick right before we embark on our trip. We can commune with the germ-laden when we return.)

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

We’ve been friends such a long time. I remember rifling through my mother’s hidden stash of marshmallows. You were there. When I sneaked cookies from the jar and restacked them so no one would notice, you were there. You even came along to my grandmother’s house that summer when I was just nine. How embarrassing to find that Grandma had taped closed the jar where she kept M&Ms after she noticed I’d pilfered some. You understood, though.

You were my friend, even when my parents became enemies. You stood by me when I found myself lost in middle school. Even though we parted ways for a year or so in junior high, you were waiting for me when I needed you again. You have been a steady friend, available at any moment of any day. Boring weekend? Nothing to do? You were there offering a bowl of ice cream slathered by peanut butter and chocolate syrup, and on a lucky day, miniature marshmallows.

My friends liked you, too. We’d all go out and eat french fries at that dumpy little drive-in which was demolished years ago. And a salty main course always called for something sweet, so we’d head over to the new Dairy Queen for a Peanut Buster Parfait. We were all pals. We stuck together.

Who needs boys when you have popcorn drizzled with butter?

My high school job made it convenient to spend time with you, which was great, wasn’t it? All those tacos and freshly deep-fried chips? I loved those “Crustos,” even though the name is disgusting–what’s not to like about deep-fried flour tortillas dusted with cinnamon sugar?

I know we weren’t on the best of terms in college, but I was so busy! I did appreciate how you’d lurk in the basement on the off chance I might come downstairs with fifty cents for a Twix bar, but I know we didn’t see each other too much. As it turns out, boys are more interesting than you, at least they were at the time. You have to admit, though, that occasionally, when we did get together, a whole pizza would disappear and sometimes a pound-size bag of M&Ms, too. And I never did practice moderation on those rare occasion we’d go a buffet. Hello!? Starving college student! I had to get my money’s worth.

Even though I didn’t see you all that much while I was preparing for my wedding (all that sewing, what was I thinking?), I did perfect my one-pan brownies, didn’t I? And let’s not forget those jumbo muffins at the bakery next to work! See? Always, forever friends, even though my wedding was coming. I still thought of you often.

I didn’t really expect to see you once I got married. And I probably wouldn’t have if my husband hadn’t started working the night-shift. I will never forget the first time we were together again. They’re not kidding, are they? Once you pop, you just can’t stop. I had to hide that Pringles can when it was all over so my husband wouldn’t realize how much I ate when we reunited. We picked up right where we left off, didn’t we?

Married life stressed me out, but not because of the marriage itself. The other stuff that happens to grown-ups challenged, teased and tested me–my dad’s death, the infertility, adoption, moving, job changes, financial woes, my husband’s cancer, parenting twins, pregnancy, moving again–oh, and let’s not forget the breast lump and biopsy. I am so glad you were there for all of that. I am, really. You were the one I could count on. Making friends is tough when you’re a grown-up!

But here’s the thing. I outgrew you, just as surely as I outgrew those size 10 blue jeans. Sure, you still feel comfortable to me, you calm me down, you welcome me with open arms. But I’m tired of sneaking around with you. I realize that you act like my Best Friend, but you are sabotaging me. You stab me in the back. You do not have my best interests at heart. It’s really all about you and never about what is really best for me.

So why is breaking up so hard to do? You have become my worst bad habit, the dark sin I repent of every Monday morning. I am embarrassed by my association with you and I pretend that we aren’t really that close. But it’s clear enough to anyone who looks at me and my extra chin. We are on intimate terms.

You have got to go. Food, you are the sorriest excuse for a friend ever. All that time when I thought you were helping me, bringing me peace, entertaining me, you were wrapping your chubby little fingers around my heart, ready to cut off the circulation.

You are demoted. Go back to your proper place, that of serving me, nourishing me, keeping me healthy. Our sick relationship is clearly out of hand.

I’ll be lonely for you and I’ll be tempted to call you. You are so familiar to me! The easiest possible solution to every problem I have! Bored? Sad? Happy? Tired? Cause for celebration? I want to call you. But I can’t. I’ve got to stop. You are no friend, despite your chumminess.

We’ve got to break-up.

And I mean it this time.